


I must have got some blood on my hands

by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe), printersdevils (tuesdaysgone)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Effort, Graveyard Sex, M/M, Night shift - Freeform, Pre-Season/Series 01, Semi-Public Sex, Student Will, Top Will Graham, Younger selves, because of course they do, historical inaccuracy bc y'know, inspector popil is suspicious, med student hannibal, schroedinger's vampires, they switch, they work in the morgue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/pseuds/gleamingandwholeanddeadly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/printersdevils
Summary: Will's new coworker is... interesting. To say the least.





	I must have got some blood on my hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is our contribution to Deadly's Vampire Hannibal Fest, and... we never, ever post WIPs! But just this one time, we are, because otherwise we wouldn't make the deadline and that would be a tiny bit embarrassing. (Especially considering that this is the second fic we started to write, after the first one wanted to be Extremely Longwinded and definitely wouldn't have been done in time. Oops. We're nothing if not consistent.)
> 
> This one was mostly my fault, because I have a thing for Young Hannibal. Also, I am pretty sure Chapter Two will have more actual vampirism, so stay tuned.
> 
> xoxo, L.

Will's first few shifts at the city morgue are unremarkable; even the supervisor who'd hired him had acted surprised that he'd wanted the job, much less the night shift. Will explained in halting, Creole-accented French that he just needed the money and didn't sleep much anyway. It earned him a shrug, the same one he'd received many times before: a 'whatever, weirdo' sort of shrug. That didn't concern Will. The morgue is so quiet, and he's got a nack for this kind of work. He's grateful for the clinical serenity of the place.

It's easy to clock in at night, scrub up, put on his coat, and spend the night in the quiet company of the dead. He's always been gentle, ever more so now, and it feels like getting to know people in an entirely different way than he's used to: he can be a fly on the wall to their deaths just by looking at the secrets their bodies are hiding, hieroglyphs on tombs of flesh.

He's not sure who reads the reports he writes; he's never met the medical examiner. He's only seen most of the other staff in passing, actually; the supervisor usually sets Will up and then makes himself scarce, and apparently the other worker on his shift has been on leave. Will hopes that, whoever they are, they're quiet. Most of the medical students are.

He's just begun working on a case one night when he finally hears the other pathology student come into to the lab, but he just sees a flicker of a figure go past the door at first. He barely looks up. Eventually, though, he's aware of attention on him, and then there's a polite knock at the door.

"Bonsoir," a young man says, letting himself into the room.

Will nods a greeting. "Bonsoir." Never overly fond of eye contact, he still spares the boy a quick glance before he drops his gaze. He feels a prickle of attention again; hears a soft huff.

"You're American?"

Will looks up again. "Yes. Will Graham. Hello."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter."

Not French, then. Well, the university attracts many foreign students. At least they can communicate. Will smiles cordially. "Have you worked here long?"

"Just a couple of months," he replies. "Long enough to know my way around."

He's tall, slender, with a striking, unusual handsomeness and fair hair made dark with product where it's aggressively styled back. Will can't take his eyes off the pattern of his tie for a moment, bright in the window of his white shirt and lab coat.

"That makes one of us."

"Don't hesitate to ask if you should need assistance with anything," Hannibal says pertly, eyes bright. When he smiles, Will sees white, pointed little teeth.

"Thank you. Uh - how did you want to split up the reports? I've had them to myself the last couple weeks."

"Yes, I heard you've been doing an admirable job." Another little grin. "And - alphabetically, perhaps?"

"Fair enough. Thanks." It's not that it isn't a nice thing to say, but it feels a little patronising - this guy can't be much older than Will, maybe a couple of years. It irks him slightly, to think his competence was questioned; makes him set his shoulders and go remote and work-oriented again.

They split the pile, and go their separate ways. Will would hardly know that Hannibal is in the same lab suite, if they didn't occasionally cross paths for the filing cabinet or some tools. It suits Will fine, truly. Occasionally the back of his neck prickles, that's all.

He works steadily, hands careful, the silence heavy as if they were at the bottom of a deep lake where sunlight scarcely penetrates. When he interrupts it with a burst of the bone saw, Will feels the weight of the attention in the room refocus slightly, and he glances at his coworker. Hannibal has averted his gaze, but Will still feels it lingering like static.

"Are you a medical student?" Will asks, the attempt at conversation uncharacteristic.

"Just so, and yourself?"

Will shakes his head. "Forensic science. I just... like the night work." Lecter tilts his head, intrigued, but Will just shrugs. "It's good for extra lab credit. And quiet."

"It is that."

Their eyes meet for a moment, almost accidentally. Will is struck by the unusual color of Lecter's - an almost reddish-brown. "You don't sound French, if you don't mind my commenting," he says, in the interest of avoiding the usual silence that swallows up his confessions of asocial inclination.

A faint smile, no teeth this time. "I'm not, not originally."

"Me neither. Obviously."

"Where are you from?"

"The States. All over. Do you know Louisiana?"

"I've heard of it, yes."

Will smiles briefly. He can't tell if Lecter is interested or not. "Mostly there." 

"I was born in Lithuania, but have spent a good time travelling too," he offers in response. "Italy, mostly. Germany."

Will nods. "And now, Paris."

"Paris," Hannibal agrees. "I love the city."

Will still isn't sure. "It's- busy," he mumbles.

"Even at night," Lecter agrees, a spark of understanding in his gaze. "It can be an indifferent host to those who aren't charmed by its bustle."

"Yeah, I feel too much like a tourist to explore right now."

Lecter nods thoughtfully. "It can be a lonely place. I can write you down some of the less well-trodden areas, if you like, and give you a suggestion of when they might be... least frantic. The cemetery is a wonderful visit, and like here, it has a library air to it."

"Thank you for the suggestion," Will feels himself blush a little, unbidden. "That would be - nice."

"I shall give it some thought." He nods, his serious, soft mouth curving in a smile. It looks like something he doesn't do often. Will can empathize.

"I better ah- go get on," he murmurs finally, feeling inexplicably shy.

Lecter just nods politely and Will hurries back to his table. His cheeks are burning. He's not sure why, all he knows is he can feel Hannibal's gaze like sunburn. He's so twitchy; he wonders if he'll ever grow out of it. Though he hasn't so far. He goes back to his forms and his bodies. They're easier to talk to.

//

 The residents of the morgue, and Hannibal Lecter, continue to be amicable nightly companions. The living occupants of the room drift around one another like specters, exchanging files and helping one another shift the yielding patrons of the morgue from one place to the other. Not being alone does have one side effect - Will finds it easier to shake off whatever glimpse into someone's life he finds writ in their death. All it takes is a brush of Lecter's elbow or a whiff of his cologne, which lingers despite the odors of the morgue, and Will drifts back from his mental journey, be it peaceful or fraught.

Whether Will should be using his coworker as a totem to reality or not, he really couldn't say, but there it is. And he's not precisely a stranger now. Or else - Will doesn't _think_ of him as a stranger. He thinks about him rather a lot, actually. He's preoccupied with his graceful, easy presence and the cut of his cheeks.

Tonight, Hannibal looks even brighter than usual when he comes into the morgue, skin smooth and pale and his wine colored eyes gleaming.

"Good evening, Will," he greets.

"Hannibal," Will returns, then goes back to his report. Instead of moving off to his own table, though, Hannibal hovers. Will looks up and meets his eyes again.

"I've noticed you watching me," Hannibal says, and even though it's polite, Will's stomach drops out and heat rushes up to his face. _Oh, shit._

"I do that," he mumbles. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You're - interesting."

A demure dip of his chin, and Hannibal smiles. "No apology necessary, Will. I noticed because it was quite mutual. I wondered if you'd like to join me for dinner."

"I - when?"

"Whenever it's convenient."

Will feels his face go from warm to volcanic. "O-okay," he stammers softly. "Maybe... Thursday before work?"

"Thursday." Hannibal agrees. "Perhaps lunch so we have time to talk." He tilts his chin up in a boyish smile.

Licking his lips at the sight, Will nods. "Yes, all right."

Hannibal practically glows with his approval. Will has rarely seen him look so animated. It's entirely too charming. "Where would you like to go?"

"I still don't know anywhere," Will shrugs, feel dumb and out of his depth already.

"Then please, allow me." Hannibal moves to him and offers a notepad. "Might I have your number, so I can call to give you the address?"

Will nods, chewing his lip as he writes. He hands it over, and Hannibal holds the paper briefly under his nose before he folds it and puts it in his breast pocket. "I'm delighted."

"Uh, why wouldn't you be, charmer like me."

"You are entirely charming."

That shakes a little laugh out of Will, dry and hoarse. "Right."

The pink lips twitch. Without missing a beat, Hannibal leans forward and lets his fingers brush the back of Will's knuckles. "I detest platitudes and false pretences, I find them rude. I seldom say something I don't mean."

It's both gratifying and jarring to have the usual social niceties swept aside like smoke. Will clears his throat to distract from the lump in it. "I -  thank you. Same."

Hannibal smiles. "Good." He trails his fingers over Will's latest report, and Will watches his eyes scan the lines. He awaits his assessment, because doubtless there is one. "Your work is very thorough," Hannibal murmurs.

"I'm a forensic specialist," Will says, idly, "thorough is sort of in the name."

"Fair point." Hannibal hums. "It's still a lot of detail."

"I'm good at detail."

Hannibal nods, apparently satisfied with some private theory, and then gestures. "I shall leave you to your details, Mister Graham."

"Good luck with your own."

Hannibal flashes him a sharp smile. Will can see it like an afterimage for a long time.

The rest of the night seems almost painfully slow, the morgue unmoved as ever by those passing through. Hannibal, diligently working at his station, seems to almost have forgotten their conversation - until it's finally time to leave and he touches Will's elbow gently at the door when they've scrubbed up and collected their things.

"I look forward to Thursday."

Will smiles automatically, leaning slightly closer, but his own susceptibility to the contact surprises him and he freezes. It must show, because Hannibal retracts his hand.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm - usually uncomfortable."

He doesn't look smug, or labor it. Instead, Hannibal simply nods. "Then forgive me for giving you too much to think about. Good evening, Will."

"Good night, Hannibal." He waits a moment before watching the young man glide away. Then, he flinches at himself. He can't believe that happened. He'd do anything for one normal goddamn interaction. He supposes lunch is too early to start drinking - not that it'd help his filter any, but at least it might tick the anxiety down.

He sighs at the thought and gets his things to go. It's still dark even though it's nearly dawn, and Will pulls his collar up against the chill of the city wind. He doesn't feel nearly as alone as he usually does on his solitary walk, to the point where he actually stops and looks around. It's quiet and dark, though. The wind spins a few crackling leaves around his ankles, carrying a familiar scent.

"Hannibal," he frowns. There's nothing though, just the faint kiss of yellow on the busy Paris skyline. Will shakes his head and turns again.

Back at his shabby little apartment, he greets a neighbor, always an early riser, in halting French before going inside and starting the routine of making a cup of coffee and doing the previous night's washing up; putting his things away. It's sterile here too, in a different way from the morgue. His bed is neatly made, the kitchenette clean and tidy, everything in order. It helps his mind stay quiet.

Now, he showers off the smell of the morgue and half heartedly eats a sandwich before bed. The concept of a date floats amorphously in his mind, just out of clear view. A date with a boy - a young man - a _whatever_ Hannibal Lecter might be called.

At the thought, Will's face turns pink. He felt like a man possessed at the fleeting touch he'd given him, startled by it, dazed simply by his kindness. Will is used to neither. He gets into bed with the silent thought that he should probably talk to Hannibal more than twice tomorrow night. Though it doesn't seem to have dissuaded him. Maybe he sees stories behind scars and marks, too. Maybe he'll keep listening to Will's. He closes his eyes at the thought; it feels both unsettling and exciting.

 

Will goes to work the next night with a few questions and subjects already lined up for Hannibal, and so he doesn't notice at first that he's running late. Even having only known him for a brief while, Will suspects it uncharacteristic, and a faint worry starts in his chest. They'd exchanged contact information the previous night, and he considers using it. If Hannibal is out sick though, he won't want to be woken up by a trilling phone. Will bites his lip. He sighs and sits down at his own desk.

Hannibal doesn't show at all. It eats at Will's attention like a gnawing, burrowing insect.

 

When he emerges from his shift, he's irritable and wound tight, unable to sleep when he gets home until it's time to get up for class. With a bad mood rising like a tide, he decides on a very necessary coffee stop on his way to school. It's crowded in the shop and someone bumps hard into him, swearing at him in French. When he's collected his coffee and a pastry, he hurries back outside, scowling down at his boots against the pavement, the handle of his cup burning his fingers slightly. The university quarter is bustling even though he's out early, and as he sits down on a bench and stirs a sugar into his coffee, he gets that distinct prickling against the back of his neck. It's starting to feel nearly familiar.

Expectant, but not sure what of, Will looks around - and sees that Hannibal is striding toward him across the cobbles. _Oh_ , he thinks. Feels relief within him like a wind. It fills the sails of his disgruntlement and glides it away.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal greets warmly.

"Hannibal," Will breathes. Then, he gathers himself. "Are - you weren't at work, is everything okay?"

"Yes, I'm quite well." He gestures at the seat beside Will, and at his nod, sinks into it smoothly. "I simply had to change my nights at the last minute, I apologize if you were concerned. Nothing the matter."

"I thought about calling," Will murmurs.

"But you didn't?"

"I was afraid to disturb you if you were sick."

"Then I appreciate both the concern and the consideration." He smiles.

Will fidgets, then gestures. "Can I get you a coffee?"

"I'm fine without, thank you." Before Will can answer, he continues. "You have class today?"

"Yes, very soon."

A considering silence, and then Hannibal leans forward. "Forgive me if this is presumptuous, but I had planned an outing to Père Lachaise cemetery today, I wanted to find Proust. I don't suppose I could tempt you?"

 _Oh_. Will pauses, licking his bottom lip. "That depends. Is Proust's grave more interesting than my class?"

"I really cannot say." He smiles. "But I'd like to think I could engineer it to be so."

Will takes a breath and makes a decision. "All right." He feels a thrill of pleasure at the thought.

Hannibal's face lights with a sweet, sharp smile. "Then come along, we'll need to take the bus."

Will nods and drains his coffee as quickly as feasible. They walk down to the nearest bus stop, Hannibal's hands tucked neatly into his pockets. Will keeps glancing over, agitated where Hannibal is merely serene.

"I was thinking about you too, you know," Hannibal says when the bus arrives.

"Were you?" Will murmurs.

"I was, in fact." He buys them two tickets and passes Will one back before leading him up to the top level. The break in conversation gives Will a chance to study him. His soft, severe profile, and his minklike coloring. Pale and remote and poised. _Beautiful_ , Will thinks, and then he flushes at the thought. It's hard to imagine that he's... misinterpreting.

"What were you thinking about?" He prods. It earns him a brittle, smug tilt of Hannibal's chin. 

"I was thinking about details, Will Graham."

It stuns him for a short while. He looks around the inside of the bus, eyes drifting over the posters and seat patterns and the harried faces of the other morning commuters. Something in the way Hannibal's mouth had moved around his name is still lingering in his sensory memory, and he cups it in his hands like smoke until Hannibal catches his eye and smiles.

"Perhaps we could see Oscar Wilde too."

"I wouldn't be opposed."

"Good."

Their knees brush. Hannibal looks out the window, and Will looks at him. He's so still. The kind of stillness Will dreams of having. He distracts himself again and looks away: no point in dreaming about things he can't have. He's probably being fantastical. But his very presence is calming.

"So - what year are you in at medical school?" Will asks.

"The second."

"You like it?"

"The workings of the body? Yes, it is a beautiful machine."

"Machine," Will repeats softly.

"You disagree?"

"I tend to think of them as paintings."

"And thus our job... Art in death?"

"After a fashion." They meet one another's eyes for a long moment.

"Perhaps the individual is the painter, and life the process, then," Hannibal suggests.

"Perhaps." Will stares out the window.

"Do you paint, Will?"

Will laughs. "Oh, no. Not artistic at all."

"We all create something. What do you create?"

Will sits for a while in silence. "I'm not quite sure yet."

"It will be worth the wait when you realize, I am sure." Said like he knows, and Will hasn't quite caught up. It seems fitting. 

"I hope so."

More eye contact. Will isn't sure why it's so easy. "What about you?" he remembers eventually.

"I draw, yes."

"That - yeah, that makes sense. Is that another reason for the visit to the cemetery?"

"If it doesn't inconvenience you too much."

"Not at all." Will gives him a smile.

They get off the bus after a while and Will follows Hannibal toward the closest gates of the huge, sprawling graveyard. He looks as casual as if he's visiting friends. Will amuses himself with the thought briefly; Hannibal has a slightly anachronistic air to him. Young but timeless. He moves among the tall memorial tombs like a ghost.

When he realizes Will is lagging, he turns and waits. "Sorry, looking around," Will says quickly.

"Take your time."

"Show me your favorites. You've been here a lot right?"

Hannibal nods, and extends a long-fingered hand. Will hesitates only a moment before he reaches out and takes it: the place is more or less deserted this early, and he's been thinking about the spark that came off the contact of their hands the other night.

He is drawn through the gravestones, winding paths and towering trees. Everything looks familiar, but completely new - it reminds Will of New Orleans graveyards, but somehow even more packed in and elongated, everything cut into neat lines of cream and black marble; brass plates and glass cases. Finally, Hannibal pauses and Will looks up at the memorial stone.

"Proust," he murmurs. It's a shallower monument than the rest, scattered with flowers and thrown coins, somehow more striking for its simplicity. "He had a romantic relationship with the composer Reynaldo Hahn for many years, though of course both of them denied it. In one of his letters to Hahn, he wrote, 'I want you to be here all the time but as a god in disguise, whom no mortal would recognize.'" He looks down at the gleaming black gravemount with a deep affection in his eyes, his gaze seeming to stir the rose petals spilling off the display there.

Will finds him as arresting as the monument. "I've never read any," he admits.

"The novels, or the letters?"

"Well - either." Will blushes a bit.

"Both are worthwhile should you have time." Hannibal himself looks like a god in disguise, mild expression and intent eyes. "I could lend you a couple of the first volumes of _In Search of Lost Time_ , if you like."

"Will it help me find it?"

"I suppose that's for you to find out." He circles Will's wrist with cool fingers, testing the pulse idly.

Surprised, Will lets him, watching him closely. His hands are cool, and he makes no other move to get closer. Just keeps his ear tilted to the air, as if hearing some far off melody.

"What's the prognosis, Doctor?" Will teases eventually.

"Not a doctor yet. But your pulse is admirably steady."

"Admirably, considering what?"

"That you dislike being touched."

Will flushes a bit, then tweaks his shoulder in what he hopes comes off as nonchalance. "It's... not so bad sometimes."

"I am delighted to find myself an exception."

Will's face heats up. That's... clear from his little smile.

"Let's go and find Oscar," Hannibal purrs, "it's a beautiful monument."

Will nods his agreement and lets himself be led along again.

It _is_ beautiful. Studded with kisses like rubies inlaid. He sneaks a glance at his own companion's red mouth; imagines it pressed to the pale stone. "Shame I didn't bring my lipstick," he jokes lamely.

"You hardly need it," Hannibal replies.

Will's stomach does a weird, jolty twist, and he fights to keep his face straight. "Wh - why?"

"Cosmetics couldn't possibly improve your natural coloring."

"I... that's. Thanks." Jesus, why is his face so hot? How does Hannibal keep him so off balance? He bites his lip, then angles his chin shyly at the floor. "My coloring, huh?"

"Too vague?"

"It's open to interpretation."

"I'd love to hear yours," Hannibal murmurs.

"What if I'm wrong?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Hannibal touches one of the red smudges with a delicate finger. He seems unaware of just how much there is to lose. Hard to believe he just isn't concerned. Maybe he's just that confident.

"Why don't you make the venture then?" Will challenges, a little desperately.

"Here?" Hannibal murmurs. "I imagine Oscar would approve."

Will laughs shortly, too nervous to make it stick. Hannibal steps closer. Tawny gold hair spills forward into his eyes with the wayward breeze. This close, Will can see every dot of fine stubble; his blonde eyelashes and brows.

"How come you couldn't wait until Thursday?" he asks softly.

"Why wait for what we desire?"

Will doesn't have an answer, only the pounding of his heart. It's so soon. "You're direct without being direct at all, not sure how you do it."

"How do you?"

"I wouldn't know."

"I find you remarkably direct," Hannibal says. "Perhaps I am merely seeking to emulate."

"In what way?"

A small smile, and Hannibal takes a step closer. "Only the most human of ways, Will." He lifts a hand to touch his cheek. Will manages to hold still for it. "Is this acceptable?"

He didn't expect to be asked. "Uh - god, yeah. It's fine."

Fine is a weak descriptor for it. Hannibal's plush lips curve into a knowing smile as he leans in. Will lets his eyes fall closed.

It's more than he expected, and he shivers at the soft, warm press of Hannibal's lips against his own. He's so rarely been kissed. Never like this. Hannibal touches him with absolute confidence. Pressing close, his hands framing his jaw. Will grips clumsily at his shoulders. Kissed by Oscar Wilde's grave, truly unbelievable. The thought makes him smile, and he presses in closer with a sigh.

"I think it was worth skipping class," he murmurs.

"I'm relieved."

Hannibal's lips drift to his cheek. Will closes his eyes and shivers. "You feel like nothing else."

"High praise."

"It is."

Hannibal kisses him again, the corner of his mouth, and then his lips. Will gets the feeling he's been irrevocably marked. Claimed, even. He can't say he isn't guilty of the same. The first day he'd laid eyes on Hannibal, he'd felt a tug. He's only felt it more strongly every moment since. With Hannibal's tongue curling against his own, it's positively magnetic.

Will surrenders to the urge to grasp his jacket and pull. He startles when Hannibal pushes him gently against the side of the stone, covering him neatly with his body, surprisingly forceful. It's intensely good, grounding and igniting. He releases a small gasp. And Hannibal urges still more out of him with his possessive, gentle touches. He himself stays in control, but clearly relishes the reactions he urges.

Eventually, Will eases him back, breathing hard. Hannibal is pale as ever, but his eyes are gleaming. Will touches his wine stain lips with two trembly fingers. "Wow."

"Indeed."

That makes him laugh. He sounds so proper. Then he tilts his head to nuzzle the tender inside of Will's wrist and all his pulse points seem to throb at once. He turns crimson; touches Hannibal's cheek.

"This might not be the best place -"

"It's the perfect place." His voice is low, sure. More seductive for it.

"It looks like it's going to rain," Will protests, half-heartedly for that.

"Good," Hannibal says, pressing in again.

Will holds onto his jacket and makes a soft, yielding noise into his mouth. His spine presses into stone, Hannibal a lithe, insistent force against his front. It feels luscious and forbidden, something he's never traversed before. Hannibal seems immovable, and somehow delicate. Will takes the opportunity to wind fingers into his hair.

He's rewarded with the cut of teeth against his lower lip; the more purposeful aligning of their bodies as Hannibal presses closer. Will has never been passive, and never been quite so permissive before either, but it feels liberating to give himself over to it now. From Hannibal, pleasure feels like a gift. A special indulgence specifically designed with Will in mind.

The curl of wind among the gravestones does bring a spattering of raindrops with it, but he scarcely notices. He can only think of arching against Hannibal's lean body and feeling his answering hunger.

 He can taste copper from his lip; feel the slide of Hannibal's mouth down his jaw. He tips his head back with a stifled noise.

"Hannibal-"

"Will?"

"I want to touch you."

"Touch me, then." It sounds like a dare.

"Right here?"

"If you like."

Will huffs a bit, face glowing with heat. His eyes flash as his hands curve around Hannibal's trim waist. He pushes him back, looking around. His heart is pounding, incredulity at himself and the situation. Hannibal licks his lips, slowly, watching Will's face with shining eyes.

"Down there," Will points - an ornate white sepulchre, dirtied and greening with neglect. The metal doors have long since rusted, one hanging half open. They hurry, together, laughing breathlessly as they're dotted by cold rain. Will checks over his shoulder as they duck inside the little building. "We're definitely going to hell."

Hannibal presses him up against the wall again. "Are we?"

"Absolutely." He's not overly concerned at the present moment, when Hannibal's hair is falling appealingly into his forehead. He brushes it back, fingers skimming down one ivory cheek.

Hannibal catches his hand; cups it against his mouth and kisses his palm. "Touch me, Will."

"Gladly."

He lets the hand skim down to his chest again, following buttons to the neat points of his waistcoat. He starts to pop them open carefully, listening to the rain starting to fall outside. His head is filled with the scent of dust and damp leaves, cold stone and _Hannibal_. Hannibal is cold too, and holding very still. Will suspects holding himself back.

"It's okay," Will says quietly, "you can touch too."

"Thank God for that," Hannibal murmurs, another casual blasphemy.

Will rolls his eyes and punishes him by unceremoniously yanking his shirt hem from his pants. Hannibal's hands fasten tight on his shoulders. When Will goes down to his knees on the littered stone floor, they barely slack off. His hand goes to Will's hair instead when Will starts unbuttoning his fly. He dresses so old-fashioned for a young man.Amused at the thought, Will leans in to kiss the exposed flat of his stomach, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"Will," he says softly.

"S'okay?"

"It's - yes." Hannibal sounds just barely breathless.

Will palms over his crotch before he opens his slacks and noses in against his navel, relishing Hannibal's noticeable shivers when Will's breath feathers across his skin. He braces against the wall with one hand, the other slowly petting through Will's curls. Will keeps his attention on his task. He appreciates Hannibal's flat, lean stomach as he pushes his shorts down with his slacks. His hips, his cock. Everything pale and smooth. He looks like statuary. Breath catching, Will curls a hand around him slowly, feeling him firm further from his touch, warm and starting to flush. He licks his lips.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, too honest in the state he's in.

"No more than you."

"Let's agree to disagree." Then he curls his tongue, just delicately around Hannibal's shaft as he watches him, the gaze entirely mutual, and slowly drags up to lip him into his mouth proper.

Hannibal's lids dip slightly, mouth parting on a soft gasp. The satisfaction of seeing him react makes Will tingle. He hauls him closer gently by his hip and extends his neck to take him deeper.

Another flutter. Will closes his eyes and loses himself slowly to the sensation of sucking him; tasting him. It's enough to just feel that, close his eyes and let it overtake his other senses. Hannibal's voice is low and melodic on a few quiet, praising repetitions of his name. He tastes perfect against Will's tongue, sharp and intense. He's politely still until Will tugs impatiently.

Even then, it's just a small flex of his hips. But his hands tighten, one sliding gently to Will's jaw, fingers splayed to touch his jugular. Will lets his throat stretch for more.

He's afire with neediness, so turned on he aches. Every touch of cool fingers makes him want. A little moan escapes him when Hannibal's fingers tug in his hair.

"Will, what a beautiful mouth." It makes his jaw drop in surprise, letting Hannibal push in more sharply. It feels - perfect. He doesn't care that he can't breathe. He grips his open slacks in both fists and swallows. Hannibal's breath quickens even more. "Will," he breathes it softly.

Will flicks his eyes upward again. He meets those startling dark eyes again as he pulls back to twirl his tongue around the head of his cock. The fair hair shades his face. He looks the faintest bit pink.

"Hannibal, tell me what you need," Will whispers.

"For now, for you to come up here."

Will frowns a bit, the taste still sharp in his mouth, unsure, but Hannibal smiles softly.

"I merely want to touch you. I don't want to stop touching you."

His face softening, he allows himself to be lifted. Crowding in against him, Hannibal subsumes him in kisses and touches, more hungry than before; dirtier and more indulgent with his cock smearing wet against the hip of Will's trousers, soon undone by clever fingers as Hannibal reaches into his boxers to jerk him smooth and slow. When Will is panting, he pushes down his shorts and takes hold of both their shafts together in one long-fingered hand.

Will gasps against his mouth, hips jerking without restraint. Hannibal's intent has become clear, his need even. The flavor of it has Will ravenous. He needs it too, taken over by it like some sort of rushing dark possession. He snags one hand into Hannibal's hair and wraps the other around Hannibal's between them, synchronizing the up-down pump of their hands, hissing at the sensation.

Hannibal presses their lips tightly together, as if to share their very breath. The moan Will lets out buzzes softly between their lips. Hannibal breathes that in too.

Their hands move faster together, legs interlocked where they're slumped against the crypt wall. Will feels every motion like a fresh electric current. Every point of contact is a conductor, the swipe of their tongues like licking a battery. He shivers with the intensity of it.

He clings to it; every spark and bolt of want. The sound of the rain is growing torrential outside, a fitting accompaniment to the downpour of emotion in Will now. He feels as if they've called it into being. Maybe Hannibal has - disguised as mortal, as he is. It's a bizarre fantasy, striking him out of nowhere, laughable but so appropriate.

"I think I wished for you," he whispers between kisses. It feels like a wish, sweating and trembling in a derelict tomb, the soft white light of the rainy day shining through one small stained glass window to light Hannibal in red and blue.

"I know I wished for you," the accented words curl like a second caress. It makes Will shiver and whine to hear it, hips pulsing up needily.

"Will you come home with me-?"

"I would love to."

A shaky breath of relief escapes Will before he can suppress it, buoyed by the mounting heat in his core that rises with every stroke of their hands. They're getting slick now, the air between them near steaming in the cold. "Don't stop, Hannibal," he begs.

"No, Will." Instead, he strokes faster. Will leans in, lets him bear more of his weight, kisses his beautiful sharp jaw and tastes the soft skin behind his ear.

He's sublime in every sense of the word, breath misting hot against Will's shoulder as he gasps. Will shudders again, a full-body shake that brings him to a groaning climax before he can stop himself. He makes a goddamn mess of their hands; Hannibal's pale belly and the tails of his shirt. He'd be horrified if Hannibal didn't seem to relish smearing the mess up to work over himself. He moans and braces his forehead against Hannibal's shoulder and keeps their hands moving.

Hannibal comes with a soft, hitched breath a few moments later, mouth damp against Will's ear and his other hand clutching his back. His fingernails bite in until he relaxes a fraction. Finally, he kisses Will's throat, lingering there.

"Beautiful Will," he whispers, lips brushing the skin. When Will turns into him, their lips meet in another slow kiss, hands finally free to clutch one another closer.

Slowly they refasten clothing, hands a mess, Will breathlessly promising a hot bath at his flat. "And a washing machine," he adds sheepishly.

Hannibal laughs softly. "Come along then, Will."

They slink out of their hiding place, dodging the rain that still falls with great enthusiasm. Back at the bus stop, Will keeps blushing furiously to himself at the thought of what they did - what they still might do. Hannibal can surely tell - and he seems _delighted_.

 

They smile at one another secretively the whole way back to Will's.

Once inside, Will fusses over Hannibal, starting a hot bath, taking his shirt and boxers to be washed. He seems amused and delighted at that too, sitting in Will's robe while the water runs with his eyes heavy lidded in an almost feline satisfaction. When Will finally comes within arm's distance once again, he pounces, snags his arm and pulls him close.

"Come in the bath with me," he whispers, "it's ready."

Will licks his lips and nods and lets himself be stripped out of the sweatpants and tee shirt he'd changed into while he started the laundry. Hannibal's hands move over his skin so gently. He meets Will's gaze with a hunger so plain it humbles him.

"It's been a long time since I've met anyone like you," he murmurs.

"What's different about me?"

"So beautiful - so uniquely brilliant. So much potential."

"Sounds ominous."

"Does it?"

"Oh, very." Will grins.

Hannibal nudges him toward the tub. "I did mention brilliant."

"Even more ominous."

Hannibal just laughs, stepping into the water and pulling Will with him. They sink down, Will's back to Hannibal's chest, and spend a few minutes just quietly soaking up the heat. Hannibal lifts his hand a few times to trickle water down his chest, but doesn't touch him otherwise.

Eventually, Will sighs and sits up for soap. They trade it back and forth, smoothing suds over their own limbs and each other's alike. Finally Hannibal pulls Will in and kisses him gently over his shoulder.

"I'd like to see your bedroom now, beautiful Will."

"Okay-" he flushes but starts to drain the water. They rinse off under the spray and get out to dry themselves.

Hannibal tenderly dries Will's curls and steals his breath. Then, he lets Will lead him to his room. The bare chamber immediately takes on the look of a chapel... a shrine. Hannibal elegantly lays himself out on the thin mattress of Will's queen bed with an indulgent curl of his mouth that seems to say _come, worship_ , and Will cannot deny either of them.

The angles and corded muscles under the white skin beg for the touch of his lips. Will discards his towel and bends to kiss the line of his ribs. He'd love nothing more than to leave a few bright marks on the pale skin, and he shivers at his own ferocity. If it is worship, it is not the kind he knows.

An experimental scrape of teeth yields a soft, shivery breath from Hannibal. Will smiles, nips again on his soft stomach. Will's mind casts him, still, as something more than a man. He looks up and the chilly light from outside picks him out in greys and blues, his wine colored eyes and mouth such a sharp contrast it leaves Will breathless.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers, insistent.

"You, Will," Hannibal answers simply, "inside me, preferably."

The flush of heat feels like it starts at his extremities and creeps in. His pulse sounds very loud. Maybe it shows, because Hannibal licks his lips.

"Acceptable?"

"Almost anything would be."

"Almost?" That makes him grin.

Will glares, not that he can summon much heat through his fierce blush.

"Where's the line?" Hannibal presses, voice still steeped in delight.

God, Will doesn't even know. Certainly not where he thought it was before this. "Uh- I hadn't really thought about it."

"I see." He touches Will's cheek. "Will you, for me?"

Will bites his lip. "Yes."

"Good. Now, where were we?"

"I think I was about to fetch some lube."

"Mm, yes, very good."

His simmering enthusiasm is contagious. Will gets up on shaky legs to go to the drawers, bringing back a bottle. He can feel Hannibal's gaze tracking him. When he kneels onto the mattress, Hannibal sits up to pull him over his lap by his hips, his sleek head dipping as he presses plush kisses to Will's hips.

Will touches his silky pale hair. He's hard - was from the second they got on the bed - but now he starts to ache at the sight of Hannibal's pink tongue as he licks delicately over Will's skin, over his hips and down to the root of his cock, breath hot on sensitive skin. His hands hold Will steady all the while. His head bobs smoothly when he takes Will in.

It's as graceful and practiced as anything else he does. The inside of his mouth is hot as a brand. Will holds as still as he possibly can until he feels Hannibal gently squeeze his hips. Their eyes meet; Hannibal presses Will into the back of his throat and slowly swallows.

"God," Will groans. He strokes Hannibal's hair back, damp in places from the bath, and gently rocks his hips. He's not going to last long from this. "I'm fairly sure this isn't what you meant by inside you-"

Maybe it is. God. He has no idea. Maybe he shouldn't argue. But Hannibal is pulling back, cleaning him up slowly with his tongue.

"Not quite," he agrees softly. "I just wanted to taste you, Will."

"I can understand the compulsion." Will cranes down to kiss him, hands still smoothing through his soft hair. Then he strokes down the cool planes of his chest, down to his plump cock, folding down to kiss his neck as Hannibal gasps and bridges into his hands. He's coming alive again; Will is addicted to the sight.

He reaches for the lube finally, ignoring his shaking fingers. Hannibal bites his lip and, with impossible grace, turns onto his front between Will's knees. His back is just as lovely as his front, of course. Will runs his hand down his spine before he opens up the tube with a shiver.

Hannibal pillows his head on folded arms, turned to watch. He parts his legs seamlessly when Will shifts between them. Slim hips, just slightly tilted - he's so beautiful it makes Will's head spin. He kisses his back with a sigh. Slicking his fingers, he spreads Hannibal gently and presses against him.

"Whenever you're ready, Will," he murmurs.

Will is more than ready. He eases into the tightness with one careful finger. Hot, tight, utterly perfect. Hannibal arches his back and inhales sharply. Will follows the movements of his hips to thrust in.

"Will, more-"

The wicked cheekbones are flushed, Will can see. He noses the nape of his neck as he starts a steady surge of his finger. Hannibal doesn't resist stretching, merely slowing.

"More," he commands again.

Will couldn't possibly do anything but obey. With the second finger inside him, Hannibal is more breathless and mobile still, hips rolling back in increments so that his body swallows Will's fingers eagerly, the press getting softer and smoother every time. Will feels like his own body is aflame. He twists his wrist, fucking into him slickly. The gorgeous arch of his back is all he needs to see. "S'okay?"

"What a gift you are," Hannibal murmurs. He twists back to kiss Will over his shoulder, lips parting on a soft groan as Will fucks him faster. "Give me the rest now," he murmurs.

Fumbling for the lube, Will nods. He slicks himself with a choked-back moan. "Just like this-?" he checks.

"Just like this, darling."

Teeth bared, Will guides his cock home and in with a controlled push of his hips. He hisses through the slow bottoming out. Hannibal is bridging back, holding Will's side with his nonsupporting arm. His pale hair falls across his face now, eyes still steady on Will over his shoulder.

"More," he says again, softly.

Will feels it like a jolt. Hannibal's hips beneath his palms feel like they were made to measure; his skin against Will's. His hand pulls them together so intently, like he needs the contact.

Breaths stalling, Will looks down at where they join as he lets his hips kick forward faster, jaw slack at the sight. "Hannibal," he sighs.

"Mm?" It's the least put together he's sounded all day.

"You feel sinful," he murmurs.

That gets him a hazy, considering look. "Why sinful, Will?"

"Why not?"

Hannibal arches his hips back to make him sigh. "Because you deserve this, Will." He sounds breathless.

"I deserve you?"

"Don't you think so?"

"God, I don't know-"

"Then stop thinking," Hannibal murmurs.

"You _asked_ -" Overwhelmed, he lets his hips snap again. Hannibal makes a soft sound.

"Again."

Will nods. He picks up his pace, breathing hard. It makes his spine go liquid. Hannibal grabs back at him again and ducks his head.

" _Will_ , yes, harder-"

Shivering, Will presses against his back; bites at the creamy slope of his shoulder blades. He can't quite explain the need he feels at the soft, surprised exhalation it provokes, but it consumes him. He flattens himself down against him further still, one hand grasping the headboard as he fucks him quick and fluid, teeth digging into Hannibal's trapezius.

The groan this time is satisfyingly loud. Will sighs in pleasure. He keeps thrusting, the sound of their joining all wet suction and slapping skin now. He wants more of those fractured, low moans. Craves it, maybe more than his own release. He wraps one hand under Hannibal at the thought to touch his cock, pleased to find him hard and leaking. He purrs his pleasure into the shell of Hannibal's ear.

"Feels good?"

"Beautiful," Hannibal breathes.

Will groans into his hair, squeezing him gently as he strokes, thrusts going fast and rhythmic. He loses track of things after that, body mindlessly seeking pleasure as he worships Hannibal with his hands and lips. It's when Hannibal starts to squeeze slowly around him that the need becomes inescapable. He makes a helpless, wordless sound and lets his hips drive in to completion.

"Hannibal- I'm-"

"Yes, let me have you."

And that's what it is when he finally lets go - possession. It feels like Hannibal is drinking his pleasure down, keeping it to treasure; for sustenance. Will wants him to have it all. He smears kisses against his cheek and jaw as he rolls the last of his orgasm out, breathless and weak with it.

Hannibal's hand joins his around his cock. They jack him off together in sharp, tight strokes until he makes a soft, low pleading sound. Will shudders to feel the way he spills. It's flickering, squeezing, slick and warm.

Other than his one soft sound, he's mostly silent through it, but he goes nearly boneless underneath Will, and his hands are still tight and grasping on him, keeping him close even when Will makes to disengage for cleanup. Will peppers his shoulders with more little kisses.

"Stay," Hannibal murmurs.

"Just a washcloth, Hannibal -"

" _Stay_."

Will smiles a little when Hannibal twists to move Will onto his back, settling down against him with his ear against his chest. He thinks Hannibal is listening to his heartbeat. It strikes him as strangely intimate, all things considered, but it's all right. He would be hard pressed to deny such a little thing. Not to Hannibal.

He strokes his hair slowly. "Was it - good?"

Hannibal tilts his chin up to smile at him. "There are no words that could do justice to how perfect you felt, Will."

Will snorts softly to hide the fierce, heated fondness the words inspire. "Good." He accepts another slow kiss. Hannibal is still so unreadable in ways. But this - this he can receive with perfect clarity: he's wanted. He wants in return. He sucks softly at his tongue to show him.

Hannibal makes that soft purr of pleasure again. "Thank you for coming with me today, Will."

Will raises a brow at him. "A double entendre?"

"If you like."

Will thinks it wasn't. Hannibal is too prim for that, even if he did just let Will fuck him on the first - date? Graveyard tour? Will can't believe any of it happened. Including having an actual date. He lets out a wild little laugh at the thought, turning pink.

Hannibal just nuzzles him. He sets his cheek back to Will's chest and softly drums his fingertips. They're definitely following the thump of Will's heart. Charmed, he strokes Hannibal's hair, and lets his eyes drift shut.

It's a rare treat to have someone else in his bed. Admittedly it's often a self imposed rarity, but working at a morgue and studying forensics hasn't upped his cool game any. Hannibal doesn't care about cool, clearly.

"Can I go wash up now?" Will asks. At Hannibal's reluctant nod, he kisses him again swiftly. "I'll be quick."

He is, rinsing himself down with a washcloth and splashing his face with cold water before he returns to his little bed; the encompassing magnitude of Hannibal's hot, dark affections. He's so comfortable, and so tired, he feels sleep lapping at the edges of his consciousness like a river's passage.

"Am I a bad host if I fall asleep?" he mumbles. Hannibal's hand passes gently over his cheek.

"Perhaps I ought to let you rest?"

"You've got somewhere to be?"

"No, Will. I can stay."

"Do you want to?"

"If you would like me here, I would like it also."

That makes Will chuckle. "Y'know, I'm not usually the less awkward one."

"That is bordering on rude," Hannibal replies, but with no heat.

"I'll make it up to you."

Hannibal hums. "Oh?"

"When we wake up."

A soft sound, almost a laugh. "Very well."

"Think about what you'd like to ask for," Will teases.

"While you sleep? I will." Hannibal strokes through his curls. Will is too close to dozing to puzzle that out, so he elects not to. He's asleep within breaths.

//

Will's eyelids flicker while he sleeps, and Hannibal is enchanted by the soft flutter of his lashes; how smooth and fragile he looks. He's not sure yet if he is fragile on the inside too. He smells delicate and sweet, his pulse quietly thunderous beneath Hannibal's ear. The valves of his heart sing a siren song as he sleeps. It's a melody Hannibal can't live without. He's heard it with his entire body since that first night when they met in the morgue.

Everyone he's ever met has had their own rhythm. He hears them all, can still remember a few he's otherwise lost. But Will - he is tantalizing. And here and willing and bared to Hannibal like a prize. He _is_ a prize.

At the thought, he reaches out and strokes the pale, naked line of his throat, his pulse visible with his stillness. Hannibal hadn't known what to do, when Will was inside him, leaning down to bite sharply over his skin. He'd been seized so strongly by the desire in him, it had pulled him taut and thin and transparent. He's tried so hard to moderate his hunger. And been more or less successful, until now; until he's been presented with Will, sleeping in his arms so trustingly.

But he doesn't deserve it- not even for his joke about Hannibal being awkward. This beautiful creature has no idea. When he starts to stir, Hannibal is rapt. He watches his lips part, drawing in a soft breath. When he opens his eyes, they automatically seek Hannibal out.

"You stayed."

"I said I wanted to."

"Wouldn't be the first time someone changed their mind about me," Will grins crookedly.

"You must have some off-putting sleeping habits."

"Nightmares almost nightly," Will says, tone still careless.

"What do you dream about?"

"Nothing nice."

"Never anything nice?"

"Not that I remember."

"We'll have to work on that."

"Will you be sleeping over again, Hannibal?" Will murmurs.

"I think I'll have to, if I'm to follow through on that."

Will nuzzles up underneath his chin so sweetly. "Okay."

His content little sighs and hums are like sips of dessert wine. Hannibal can feel his pulse again. He kisses his wrist when Will strokes his hair. So close. Just there, under creamy tissue-paper skin. He wouldn't usually allow himself the slip. Will is just too tempting.

"You're so pretty," Will rumbles, "is that weird to say?"

"I don't think it is." Hannibal smiles.

"Good, it's a little too late to take it back."

"That is true. I wouldn't want you to, regardless." They share another smile, Will's fingertips ghosting over Hannibal's lips. He's such a sweet little lure.

Hannibal turns his hand in his again and savors the warm hum on his lips as he kisses the oyster of his palm. He thinks he wants to have the boy, this time. He pushes up smoothly to kiss them, bodies pressing together.

Will sighs, sounding a bit surprised. Regardless, his arms curl up around his neck and Hannibal breathes in the scent of him. When Will arches up, he meets his hips with a roll of his own and a long, pleased sigh. He hasn't wanted or needed this kind of contact for quite some time. But Will is all supple muscle and soft skin and it's so, so easy to desire. So he lets himself take a simple kind of pleasure from it, and hopes it will satisfy some of his less conventional appetites for the time being. He is simply not sure how much longer he'll be able to resist.

He kisses him deeply. He'll find some other outlet for the rest.

Meanwhile, Will is getting more and more mobile beneath him. He's beautifully eager. Filling out, letting their skin slide. He's breathing harder, beautifully flush.

Hannibal thinks of the cemetery, licks his lips, and slides down Will's body purposefully. Will gives a little groan. His hands find Hannibal's hair. Very careful, very gentle. He's so sweet; making him desperate is so tempting. He trails the tip of his tongue delicately down his stomach. It heaves a bit as he squirms.

"Hannibal," Will breathes softly, seemingly just to taste it.

"Yes, sweet William."

"William," that makes him breathe a laugh, "no one calls me William."

Hannibal smirks, mouth still moving. "I'm not everyone."

"No," Will pants, "you're not." He bridges up a little when Hannibal sucks at his hipbone. Hannibal nips softly at the ridge, unable to resist. Worth it for the little yelp Will gives. Hannibal soothes the ridges with his tongue, but his mouth waters a little. The thunder of his pulse this close to his femoral artery is almost deafening if he lets his hindbrain take over. But he, it behooves him to remember, is better than that.

Truthfully, Hannibal rather enjoys these little exercises in self restraint. Even more so when they're so lovely.

He kisses lower, indulgent in it. Will's inner thighs are creamy like they've never seen the sun. Impossible, with his birthplace- but Hannibal can imagine him in shorts and polo shirts, muscles made lean and defined by manual work. It's a nice thing to imagine. At the thought, he presses a kiss to the tender skin and smiles at Will's noise of mild complaint. He's enjoying himself immensely. He nips at his thigh and smiles when Will whines again.

"More, Hannibal."

"What would you like?"

"Your mouth!"

"You have it."

Will growls softly. "Hannibal..."

He relents and licks slowly up the prominent vein of his cock. The heat of his skin is incredible. He presses his cheek against him for just a moment and inhales his scent.

"Nn?" An inquisitive little sound from Will. Hannibal licks under the crown of his cock to distract him. It works, drawing out a shiver. His expression surrenders to pleasure with the slow swirl of Hannibal's tongue. "That's so good -"

Hannibal has to agree. He keeps using his tongue only for a long time. Will's breaths get harsh, shivery, his hands no less gentle on Hannibal's crown even when he lingers. He starts leaking, and Hannibal cleans his skin with eager swipes of his tongue.

"Hannibal," Will's voice takes on a measure of pleading, "you're killing me."

He sounds so confident of that. It makes him laugh, just a little. "Not even close."

"Matter of opinion."

"Ask for what you want, then," Hannibal urges silkily.

"God - please stop teasing me."

Clear enough. Hannibal smiles and takes him into his mouth. It's worth it; Will's grateful moan is stunning. And the feel of him against the inside of his mouth is worth it, as well. Hot and thrumming and divine. Hannibal works him with the benefit of many, many years of experience.

"Holy fuck," Will mumbles, tipping his head into the pillows with a soft noise of surprise.

Hannibal soothes over his hipbones with two circling thumbs. Incentivized by coaxing the soft, breathless noises of disbelief from Will with his mouth, he picks up a rhythm proper, absorbed in Will's scent and taste and the thrum of his blood in Hannibal's ears, his heart beat echoing in Hannibal's chest. He forgets to even pretend to breathe. Thankfully, Will seems preoccupied, bucking weakly, as if he could get any further inside Hannibal's mouth if he tried.

Hannibal makes a pleased noise. He can taste him getting closer, harder. The moans he hears sound ragged, torn from Will's core.

"Hannibal - I'm -"

Oh, he knows. He swallows with Will at the back of his throat, hot with anticipation for his taste. When he feels it flood his mouth, he moans, the warm rush creeping through him almost - almost like - but no.

Will sounds breathless and fractured as he comes, and so, so sweet. That brings a different kind of warmth. When he's let him slip from his mouth, Hannibal covers his hips with his palms and presses his lips to the skin of his stomach.

"Lovely," he murmurs.

"Understatement," Will mumbles. They share a sudden smile. Then Will beckons Hannibal upward gently and they exchange more kisses when he pushes himself into Will's arms. Another thing Hannibal had underestimated his susceptibility to: simple human contact.

"Want something?" Will whispers.

"Merely your hands."

"You're sure?"

He's not at all sure. But it's safest. "Yes, Will." It lights up Will's face with satisfaction, though, so it couldn't have been a wrong answer.

He pushes Hannibal onto his side and turns toward him, hand automatically smoothing down his flank. "You're so beautiful," Will tells him, voice catching.

It's humbling to hear it from someone so exquisite as Will is himself. He smiles, tongue smoothing over his lips. Still tasting Will. It clings to his tongue, filling up his nostrils, twisting and needy and alive. He's senseless with it even before Will's hot fingers curl down around him and he strokes out a sigh.

"Perfect."

"Understatement," Will echoes softly, pausing to grab the tube they used earlier to slick his hand before he closes it around Hannibal again and strokes smooth and long now.

Hannibal remembers to breathe this time. It's easier with Will panting softly in time. It's not hard at all to let himself moan. Will nips at his throat and it comes loose. He pushes with his hips, asking, demanding even.

"Hannibal," Will sighs, hand tightening and quickening.

Hannibal tucks his face against Will's. He loves absorbing his keen warmth. How Will's heart pounds from their very proximity. It always has; it was the first thing that drew him. Now, he tips his mouth to kiss him and tastes its quickening.

 _Mine,_ a voice within him growls softly. With his eyes closed, he can't help tracing up the line of Will's jaw, teeth prickling between kisses. He hides his face there for several moments, just lost in the slow drumbeat of Will's body; the motions of his hand on Hannibal's cock, stroking and twisting. He has Hannibal panting, jaw slack, tongue against his skin, so close. He smears his mouth against his neck and grasps at Will's hair with a shuddering sigh. 

"Do it," Will slurs. The words yank a cord in Hannibal that elicits the sound of a bell, low and reverberating and deafening. His teeth graze,  and he restrains himself to just a few slow sucks at first, before letting his teeth sink in, quick and sharp and _hard_.

The yelp Will lets out is harsh and pained, but he doesn't stop him, just strokes him faster and clutches his back as Hannibal licks over the mark. He has to bite again, and then again, he can't stop himself, and the searing, awful hunger in him blinds him to his own ferocity for a moment when his teeth meet over Will's jugular.

"Hannibal-  _fuck_ -" he grabs at the back of Hannibal's head with his other hand, holding him there but holding him off too - and he needs it, Hannibal realizes. He hasn't broken the skin... not quite. But it will bruise - it will be beautiful. Will is groaning quietly, and at first it sounds demanding, but when Hannibal pauses he seems to hum in agreement.

Hannibal touches his curls gently and nuzzles harder. Their mouths meet again, a dragging, graceless kiss that throws gasoline on the growing fire in Hannibal's core. Will makes a helpless noise and his hand tightens. Hannibal grips his hair tighter as it crests. He feels just about able to let go. It's not so hard with Will murmuring praise into his mouth. He presses their foreheads together and responds.

"Beautiful," Will tells him. His cheeks are stained crimson, eyes wet from pain. Hannibal is besotted with the sight of him with blooming perforated bruises on his pale throat. 

He lets go. Spills hot and fast over Will's knuckles. Will gasps, so he gasps too. "Will-"

"Hannibal, you're gorgeous."

"I hurt you-?"

"No, I mean, it - I liked it."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, yeah. I swear."

Hannibal can only manage a purr in response. He wants this one to stay.

They curl even more tightly together in the warmth, Will breathing hard, hands passing lazily over Hannibal's hips and thighs while Hannibal strokes thoughtfully through his hair. When Will pulls back to look at him, he's smiling softly.

"I'm keeping you," he tells Hannibal, matter of fact.

"That's convenient."

"Is it?" He gets a sudden flash of blue eyes.

"It certainly is."

Will grins down at him, pillowing his chin on his chest. "How so?"

"It would make it difficult to pursue our relationship otherwise."

That just makes the grin grow. "Sure would."

He looks entirely satisfied. Hannibal likes it very much on him. He would like to see it again.

"I'll see you at work tonight?" Will asks.

Hannibal kisses his cheek. "I do hope so."

"You can count on it."

He's not sure if that's a hint to leave, or if Will really does just need the assurance. He hopes another kiss will serve.

It gets a soft sigh and another wary smile. He takes one final kiss. "Get some rest, Will."

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, you need to sleep, and I'll need to change."

Reluctance colors Will's expression, but he nods. "Should I walk you out?"

"That would be nice." Hannibal smiles as they both dress, Will more sloppily. He's lean and appealing and warm when he kisses Hannibal and retrieves his clothes from the radiator. Hannibal finds himself already regretful.

"We're still going for lunch tomorrow?"

Will nods. "I'd like to see you again."

"Then we have an understanding."

"Seems we do." He leans back and watches Hannibal finish dressing. His expression is now one of wary satisfaction and Hannibal lets his own reflect it. He kisses Will again at the door, and then leaves.

His entire being protests; he's surprised to note it's not purely because of hunger. Still, that need must be taken care of as soon as he possibly can, after so much... exertion. He stops outside Will's building; adjusts his cuffs and collar, and then heads into the cool, rain-flecked evening.

//

Will jumps every time he hears a door open and shut in the morgue, but no matter how many times he looks up, it's not who he expects. Hannibal is late again, and then, not coming. Will's disappointment sits like a stone in his gut, weighing him as he moves. It could, of course, have nothing to do with him. Or everything.

Will tries his hardest not to think about it as he works, about what it means - and that's going fine until he hears the door to the lab open just a couple of hours before the end of his shift.

"Oui?" he says irritably.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur." The man who enters is well dressed, neat. A detective, Will surmises.

"Bonsoir. Can I assist?"

"If you would."

He heads into the corridor to help the inspector wheel the newest arrival into the morgue, shifting the gurney into position for a preliminary assessment before he can assign a slot and refrigerate. As he buzzes around, he notices the inspector still lingering, and pauses to give him the chance to say his piece.

"I appreciate it's short notice, but I would like you to take a look at this case as soon as possible, if you wouldn't mind, Monsieur-?"

"Graham. I can take a look, but I can't promise anything. And I'll need a hand lifting. My colleague is out sick tonight."

"Very well."

He helps the detective heft the body onto the slab. Then he picks up his clipboard. "Identification?"

The inspector produces a wallet, and a badge, the grainy photo showing a much younger version of the man Will sees now. He's tall, with dark coloring and a distinctive film noir set to him. "Inspector Popil."

Will nods. "And for the body?"

"None, as of yet. He was found in an alleyway near Rue Chevalier; it appears to have been a wrongful death, I'd like to get a clearer picture of how."

"Of course," Will nods, unzipping the thick black body bag. He's immediately struck by the strange color of the body- more grey than usual, though rigor only just seems to be really setting in. He frowns. "Blood loss?"

"There was very little at the scene."

Will hums. "Very little here, too," he murmurs, peering at the wounds on the body, minimal for all the state it's in. Pulling on gloves, he touches lightly at a gash on the neck. His stomach lurches a little at the sight, but he keeps his face straight.

As he conducts his examination, the detective lingers. Will glances up irritably. But the detective is staring at him, not the body.

"Can I help you, Inspector Popil?"

"Perhaps, perhaps." He's looking at Will's neck. Automatically, Will turns his head, protective.

"This is an unusual wound pattern," he murmurs. "There is a general lack of other trauma, certainly appears to be the cause of death."

"It looks like teeth," Popil says, pointedly, still looking at Will's neck. "The marks suggest a large carnivore." Then, his posture changes nominally. "Usually you do not run this morgue alone, no?"

"No, as I said, my colleague is not here presently."

"Your colleague. I believe I've met him before. About your age, a little taller, slim build, well dressed?"

Will narrows his eyes and shrugs, but his recognition must show.

"An interesting fellow," Popil says.

 _You have no idea_. "If you say so." He looks over the body again; the bites. Two smaller, one fatally deep on the jugular. That unnerves Will further. After another long period of silence, filled only with his fixed stare and the scratch of Will's pen, the detective stirs again.

"Tell me what you think the cause of death was," he urges quietly.

"I'd say the injuries to the throat and wrists, wouldn't you?"

"Do not forget the exsanguination." The French accent twists the word into something even more sinister.

Will couldn't if he tried. The thoughts swirling around inside his head are - not at all savory. Not at all sane. The bruise on his throat throbs and, with a swing of the pendulum, he sees blood pulsing sluggishly from the dead man in the alley. A figure lifts its face from the torn throat, animal grin and deep burgundy eyes.

With certainty rising in his throat with nauseous intent, Will steps back. A tool clatters to the floor, unbalanced from his tray. His eyes lock on Popil.

 _Kill him_ , a soft voice suggests in the back of his mind, and Will blanches.  _This is the place to do it._

"No," he breathes, watching the detective watch him.

"Excuse me?" Popil steps forward. "Are you all right, Monsieur Graham?"

"Don't touch me," Will says, a frantic warning, but at the detective's visibly growing concern, he manages to cap some of the panic that's bubbling up. "My hands," he blurts, "are dirty. Anyway, I think it might require two of us to complete the autopsy, especially the more delicate proceedings. I need sufficient time and notice, Inspector, I will have your report and all the others ready for tomorrow morning. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave."

That doesn't please the detective one bit. "This is a suspicious death-"

"And this is an understaffed city lab currently run by one person, with many other cases that also need attention," Will makes his voice crisp and icy.

"You know why I am here," Popil tries at last.

"I know you're impatient. And I know I need time to do my work properly."

"Your colleague-"

"Hasn't been in the last couple of nights. I haven't seen him."

Their eyes bore into one another for a second, and then the Inspector curls his lip and looks away with a tut, starting to rummage in his pockets.  He produces a card and flicks it onto the table where Will's tools lie.

"When you see Hannibal Lecter," he tells Will crisply, "tell him I stopped by, and that I will be calling on his aunt very soon if I don't hear from him."

"I'm not his secretary," Will claps back, voice cool, "tell him yourself." 

Another heavy silence, and then Popil refastens his suit jacket.

"Very well, Monsieur Graham. Please at least let me know when my autopsy report is ready."

"Fine." Will stares him down until he finally leaves.

Only when he's sure he's alone does he let out the trembling breath in him; clutch his own throat and feel the tenderness there under his skin. Fleeting touches to his wrists; the inside of his thigh. The way Hannibal had pressed his nose into the crease of his hip and scented him like a dog scents game before a hunt. 

Sickened at the leaps his mind is making, Will clutches the edge of the table, and then looks at the body. 

"Hannibal," he breathes, "what have you done?"

 

 


End file.
